Kitchen Story

My mothers says she has something to tell me,

turns to me from the stove where potatoes

boil and bump in the pot

I stand still to hear, a bundle of forks

in my hand for the table

You are half Indian she says

and a thrill runs through me 

like finding out I'm part dragonfly

But when you go to school, if anyone asks,

say you're of English descent

like my father, not like her

I nod, another thing to know

like keep your dress down

so your underpants don't show,

don't talk about vomit at the supper table, 

don't say you're Indian.

I place the fork carefully,

one on the left side of each plate, 

as I've been taught.